Angela’s Ashes to Ashes

Or
'Tisnt
(props to Monty)
Frank McCourt’s Pulitzer Prize-winning pity party has ended at the age of 78. Boo hoo – drunk Dad abandoned the family, mom begged on the streets of Limerick, living in a basement with no bathroom but plenty of rats, three dead brothers, almost died of typhoid fever. When we were kids, we had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night half an hour before we went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah, and you don’t hear me complaining about it.